


run and run

by spheeris1



Category: The Bletchley Circle
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Series 2, Subtextual Feelings of Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spheeris1/pseuds/spheeris1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>drabble // Susan POV // Series 2 // '...and how hard had she worked to win such battles - with herself, with secrecy, with a tender want that stood in the way of everything else - only to feel as though she had lost the war nonetheless'</p>
            </blockquote>





	run and run

**Author's Note:**

> Jotted this down @ Tumblr, so thought I'd share it here as well.

/

She notices the damp heat most of all, how it causes the delicate seams of a blouse to press against her skin - morning to night sometimes - and in its wake is a patchwork of lines to follow whenever she disrobes.

Before she is covered up again, tucked into the bed and by Timothy’s side, she studies these flesh-colored rivers and wonders where they might lead; she wonders and so her fingertips brush along the shoulders, eyes slowly falling shut, and she thinks of England.

She thinks of cobblestone streets that survived the bombs and of endless lines of code left unbroken, she thinks of foolish chances taken and of adventures left to forever linger.

Susan reaches the top of her hip and she thinks of Millie.

And that’s enough to make her eyes open once more, to take a deep breath and feel Mumbai settle heavily into her lungs, to pull her hands away - swiftly, oh so swiftly - from remembering and to be here now.

For here and now is what Susan has chosen, after all…

/

The day she didn’t make that train, the one that was supposed to open up the world for her and Millie, Susan sat on a bench in the park and stared hard at where her shoes met the rain-soaked ground; she studied the impressions left from the heels - pointillism in shades of only green and brown - and they looked so permanent, though she knew they would soon fade.

But it seemed that every step she took left behind a mark, traces of her retreat and surrender, and how hard had she worked to win such battles - with herself, with secrecy, with a tender want that stood in the way of everything else - only to feel as though she had lost the war nonetheless.

The day she didn’t make that train, the one that was supposed to carry her and Millie away, Susan stared hard at the ground so solid beneath her feet - static and safe, as if it had never been split apart - and she wept, pitifully, for what could have been.

/

…here and now, a million miles between herself and the roads not taken, standing so very still…

…and yet these fragments of her heart continue to run and run and run.

/

**(end)**


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